


North Ireland, 2010

by evocates



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 18:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evocates/pseuds/evocates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beneath the blankets on a lazy winter morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	North Ireland, 2010

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Govi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Govi/gifts).



> Posted here with Govi's permission.

The sun peeked through the windows, causing stars to spark behind Viggo’s eyes even as the true ones disappeared from sight. It seemed that he was careless last night and left a slit of glass uncovered by the heavy velvet curtains. But he was alright with that, because the light was a light pink-grey, a colour almost interesting enough to tempt him to wake up and find his camera.

But Sean was breathing soft and warm and low beside him, and their blankets were pulled over their shoulders, protecting their bodies from the chill winter air that bit at Viggo’s cheek and toes. He pulled his leg up carefully, stifling giggles before he poked the back of Sean’s knee with his near-frozen big toe.

Sean groaned. He shifted slightly, hand peeking out through the covers, but the cold had him grunting and the fingers disappearing again. Viggo barked a laugh, delighted, when he felt those familiar calluses on his thigh, smacking and rubbing, annoyance and affection laid together.

“I don’t have work today,” Sean yawned. Viggo’s ears had the luxuries of years of long mornings, gently teasing apart the accent, making each syllable make sense before the words settled in his chest. He swung his arm over Sean’s waist, pressing a soft kiss onto a collarbone. His hips rocked forward slowly, gently. His cock was hard but there was no hurry, and he liked the smoothness of Sean’s back just fine.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

“The hell did you wake me up at dawn for, then?” Sean grumbled, deliberately tilting his hips away from Viggo’s sneaking hand and towards his cock. His hand made little butterfly motions, aborted little smacks, on Viggo’s thigh that made shivers run up his spine.

“The sunlight woke me,” he whispered, his words breathed over the long line of Sean’s neck. “It’s going to be a beautiful morning.”

Sean laughed, a bubbling sort of sound. “I ain’t getting out of bed to chase the sun with you, luv,” he drawled, turning his head back to look at Viggo through lidded eyes. “You’d have to do it alone.”

Viggo didn’t answer in words. His hand splayed on Sean’s hip, thumb making tiny, tiny little circles where the bone laid just beneath his skin. Sean’s fingertips brushed against his, questioning, but Viggo only continued what he was doing, humming under his breath until Sean growled and took his hand, nipping at the fingertips. He turned around, facing Viggo.

"If that's what you want, why don't you just ask?" he groused, no real heat in it. "Instead of being all creepy-like talking ‘bout the sun with yer cock rubbing up me back."

Viggo grinned, unabashed about being caught. "I like it better this way."

Sean's mouth was too tempting not to kiss, so Viggo did just that, sliding their lips together. He felt Sean smile; felt him shift onto his back, and spread his legs. What could Viggo do but follow, to take that invitation, so freely given?

"Tease," Sean accused. Viggo kissed him again, his fingers sliding down to nudge between Sean's cheeks, dipping gently into his hole. Sean arched, a sigh escaping, and he was still loose and slick from last night. It was so easy to slip a finger inside, just exploring, feeling the familiar heat, listening to the rumbling purr.

If he had a little more control, he would just stroke Sean like this for hours. But his cock ached, demanding attention, and Sean was rocking towards his hand. 

The blankets slipped down a little as he reached for the lube that he was sure he shoved back below the pillows last night. Though which pillow, he wasn’t entirely sure. He tugged on the blanket, pulling it up even as he caught Sean’s shiver with his hips. And he drew it up even further, until the warm wool draped over both of their heads and it was all-dark again.

Sean grinned beneath him. His fingers were cold at the tips as they stroked down Viggo’s face, tracing over the heavy lines that the years had set in his skin. Viggo turned and caught them between his teeth, sinking them in slightly until Sean laughed, and he smacked Viggo on the shoulder with a plastic bottle.

“And here I was, being all nice to you and finding the lube,” Sean would have sounded hurt if not for the laughter in his voice. “You daft bugger.”

“You missed a letter,” Viggo mock-complained, his smile widening until it almost hurt. “You missed an ‘R’. It’s ‘ _your_ daft bugger’, thank you very much.” He couldn’t help but laugh at his own words, and it wasn’t long before Sean joined him, their foreheads touching as their shoulders shook in near-tandem. 

Slowly their laughter died down, leaving them to just look at each other. Viggo wanted this moment to last forever: to always remember Sean's breath and warmth and the honey-salt taste of his skin just hovering on the tip of Viggo's tongue.

"Give it ta me, luv," Sean whispered. He licked his lips, a teasing hint of pink. "Give it ta me."

It should be easy to navigate the lube after so long, but Viggo stumbled with suddenly nerveless hands. He dropped the bottle, but Sean caught it, chuckling.

In the darkness, the gleam of his fingers was the most obscene of promises. Gasping, Viggo tilted his head back as Sean's hand took hold of his cock, stroking it from base to tip, his thumb dipping into the slit. Sean smiled, lying back and parting his legs even more.

The first thrust was slow. He watched Sean's eyes carefully, because he never wished to hurt him. Not unless Sean asked, then it was for pleasure, for pleasing.

It was overly warm underneath the blankets as he rocked into Sean, their hips barely moving. Outside the chill threatened, but it was alright here, just the two of them. Silent with just the sounds of their breathing and their skins. Nothing to focus on but each other.

Viggo loved mornings like these. With Sean pliant and sweet, his eyes so bright in the darkness that they were the only sources of light; when there was no need for hurrying because time itself seemed to have slowed for them; when he could pretend that the whole house was freezing and only the blankets kept them from the cold, giving them all the excuse possible to press even closer, to draw breaths warmed from each other’s lungs.

They could do this for hours. Just moving like this, their hips rocking together. Sometimes Viggo would pull almost completely out of Sean just to watch his eyes widen and lips part, a plea shivering on his lips without the coherence to form words. He would sink back into Sean then, deliberately brushing past his prostate, making Sean gasp and arch, his nipples brushing across Viggo’s chest, two peaked points of heat.

Viggo remembered, years ago, on a morning like this on the other side of the world. He had grown his hair out then, and the strands were golden and spread around his head like a halo. It made Sean look like an angel. But Sean was beautiful like this too, his hair now oak-brown and short, the strands all over his face. Viggo pushed them away, one by one, as punctuation for every rock of his hips. He shivered as Sean tilted his head towards him, nuzzling his hand, pressing kisses on every inch of skin he could reach.

Maybe they could fall asleep again like they did the last time. They could wake up in the afternoon with the sun as bright as it would ever be during this season. Maybe they would laugh to find themselves stuck together, and Sean would give one of his beautiful breathy moans, calling Viggo ‘daft bastard’ again before they continued where they left off until they came messily all over each other and the blankets.

Or maybe they could… Viggo thrust a little harder, wringing a soft whimper out of Sean’s throat. Maybe they could get off now and sleep curled up together under the blankets, and wake up when the sun had set and they would go to the kitchen. Sean would make the salad and Viggo would cook, their bodies moving in a rhythm, barely touching each other but grinning whenever they did, delighting in the lightning-dance down their spines.

So many possibilities. Viggo groaned low in his throat as Sean’s legs shifted, his heels pressing against Viggo’s spine, and he sank even deeper inside. Sean’s mouth tasted of morning musk, like a concentration of something that was so purely _him_. Unbidden, Viggo’s hips moved faster, driving into Sean now, the sounds of their skin meeting making strange echoes in this warm, lightless place on the bed.

Viggo’s hand splayed out on Sean’s thigh, inching towards his cock, one thrust with every inch. Sean’s breaths stuttered out of his throat, bracketed by his red, swollen lips. Viggo curled his fingers around his cock and held it steady, let Sean fuck into his hand as he fucked into him. Harder now, with greater strength but still not desperate. Still slow.

Their breaths collided with each other, spreading warm mists on both their cheeks like the most intimate of marks.

Sean’s hands stroked up his arms, cupped around his throat, his thumbs rubbing little circles at the hollow. Viggo couldn’t breathe for a moment, his thrusts turning erratic, and Sean smiled. He kissed him, dragged all air out of his lungs, and Viggo closed his eyes and watched the stars burst into being. What the sun did, Sean could, and maybe Viggo hated clichés in poetry but Sean was heat and home, enveloping him, and to think him the sun was easy, was true; a brighter sun than the star in the sky with heat that could barely reach them in winter.

When they came, there were no fireworks. There was just the touch of chest to chest, forehead to forehead, the sight of smile meeting smile. Like the first scent of salt-sea during a heatwave in the middle of town; the sigh of the river as it reached the ocean.

He laid there draped on top of Sean, their skins stuck together by a mixture of sweat and come, but Viggo didn’t mind. There was something better to focus on: their panting breaths, staccato and rhythmic at the same time. Sometimes Viggo wished that he knew more about musical terms, but he always preferred just strumming, creating by ear instead of pinning wordless, beautiful music into lifeless bars, whirls and curls. It wasn’t a language, not to him.

Viggo would continue on that train of thought, letting it carry him as the words wash past his mind in English and Spanish, but Sean was touching him, grounding him, his fingers brushing over the curve of Viggo’s cheekbones again and again. So he reached up instead, brushing his thumb over the deeply-etched crow’s feet on the side of Sean’s eyes. Sometimes Viggo wished that the long years they spent together were truly written on their faces, and they could remember just by touching the lines, the flood of years returning, clear and bright like the night sky that draped over Iceland.

But faces were too far away from hearts, and Viggo liked where he stored his memories now. It was just one of those strange thoughts.

“You’re drifting,” Sean murmured. He was smiling crookedly, a lopsided thing that seemed reserved for Viggo alone.

“Mm,” Viggo replied. He pushed himself up, pulling out of Sean, leaning down and breathing in the soft hiss that Sean gave him for his efforts.

There were practicalities they needed to take care of, and Viggo could tell that Sean was trying to move, to get out of their cocoon to find a washcloth, or a tissue, or something. But Viggo didn’t want to leave this nest of just the two of them, so he dropped his arm over Sean’s shoulders, anchoring him down, gently mouthing at the trembling skin just above Sean’s pulse.

The outside world could remain out of reach for now. Later, they would pull open the blankets and let the colder air rush in. They would get out of bed then, and Viggo would laugh at Sean’s cursing about the cold floorboards. Maybe they would take a shower together, and Viggo would trace once more the tiny springs the water would create on the lines of Sean’s face. They would kiss underneath the spray and Viggo would remember travelling the South Island with Sean; would remember the two of them laughing as they hunted for a waterfall, because Sean was teasing him about finding somewhere to re-enact one particular scene from one of Viggo’s movies, to recreate memories until they tasted sweeter on his tongue.

But that was for later. Now all he needed was the rough brush of Sean’s lips over his temple, the steadying beat of his heart under Viggo’s hand. Now there were just the two of them, in the cocoon of musk and sweat and sex; primal things that didn’t make Viggo think about history.

Later. The world could wait.

_End_


End file.
